


seaglass

by Artikka



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anakin Skywalker Doesn't Turn to the Dark Side, Anakin Skywalker Gets a Hug, Anakin Skywalker Needs a Hug, Angst, Canon Divergence - Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Force Shenanigans (Star Wars), Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Fix-It, ROTS Anakin meets pre-TPM Anakin, The Force is Kind of Mean, both of them get a hug, woot woot it's the whole trio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:40:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27725621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artikka/pseuds/Artikka
Summary: Anakin Skywalker, twenty two years old, stutters to a halt, face to face with another Anakin Skywalker, eight years old and staring.****Or, an unexpected conversation with his younger self gives Anakin the perspective he needs to make better choices.
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Anakin Skywalker, Mentioned Padme Amidala/Anakin Skywalker - Relationship, Mentioned Shmi Skywalker & Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 48
Kudos: 345
Collections: New SW Canon Server Works





	seaglass

**Author's Note:**

  * For [loosingletters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loosingletters/gifts).



When he closes his eyes, he’s in the Council Chambers, leaning heavily against the window with his thoughts pounding messily against his skull. 

He opens them, and he’s somewhere else entirely.

“Who are you?”

It’s a child’s voice, and his eyes struggle to adjust as he turns to face the source. His surroundings are dark and murky, but the voice had echoed as if bouncing against walls. Where is he? How did he get here? 

He needs to get back to the Temple, to the confrontation, to Padme, to Palpatine—no, _Sidious_ —Padme’s going to die and Palpatine’s going to die and Palpatine’s _Sidious_ and—

Anakin’s thoughts cut off abruptly.

The boy, the source of the voice—

It’s _him._

Anakin Skywalker, twenty two years old, stutters to a halt, face to face with another Anakin Skywalker, eight years old and staring.

“What—what is this?” He staggers forwards, gesturing wildly. “Is this some sort of vision?”

Little Anakin looks up at him, blinking slowly. Had his hair really been that blond? He’d forgotten. And the eyes, they’re. . . older than he remembered. Had he always looked so weary, so cautious? 

“You tell me, mister,” says little Anakin, watching him warily, “it’s _your_ head we’re in.”

“My. . head? No—no, I have to get _back_.” He turns, feeling for a wall, a barrier, _anything,_ and suddenly the desperation from before comes flooding back twice as strong. Padme, and the Chancellor, and the Chancellor is the _Sith_ , but the Masters are going to _kill him_ —

“You can’t.”

“What?”

“Can’t you feel it? You can’t go back until the air decides you’re finished.”

“The what?” _What?_ Something about the absurdity of those words helps the absurdity of this entire situation sink in, and he stops and takes a breath. Obi-wan would tell him there’s no use working himself into a panic. For all he knows, no time is passing back at the Temple at all. He tries again, gentler. “What air? And what do I have to finish?”

“I don’t know, sir, but—” there’s a sudden gasp— “you’re a _Jedi_.”

He looks down, spots the lightsaber hilt peeking out, and hums an affirmative. Little Anakin—Ani? takes it as permission and steps forward, eyes roving over him and taking in every detail. “That’s _wizard_ !” he says, “Is it true that you fight bad guys all over the galaxy? Have you been in a lotta battles? Kit says the Jedi can take on, like, thirty bounty hunters on any day! What color’s your laser sword? And where’d you get that scar, mister, because it’s _wicked_ , Wald’d be so jealous—is your _arm metal?_ ” 

“Uh,” Anakin says eloquently. He doesn’t remember being quite so. . . energetic when he was younger. “Right. I’m actually. . .” How the hell was he supposed to put this? “. . . you. I’m you, you’re me, _force_ , this is strange.”

Ani’s eyes go even wider at that. “ _Really?_ You’re. . . _me?_ In the _future?”_

“I got the scar in a fight with an assassin.” He grins, a little. “And the lightsaber’s blue, look.” He ignites it, feeling slightly childish but genuinely enjoying himself, especially at the awestruck gasp Ani lets out. “There’s a war right now.” he sobers, a bit. “So I have been in a lot of battles, I guess. I lost the arm in a battle, too.”

“There’s a _war?_ ” Ani huffs. “They never tell us _anything_ on Tatooine.”

“Ah, it, uh, hasn’t started yet—how old are you, anyways? What’s the last thing you remember?”

“I’m eight.” Ani says defensively. “And ‘t’s not like there’s much to remember. It’s just me and mom and,” he wrinkles his nose and scowls, “ _Watto._ ”

He looks up at him hopefully, “If you’re a Jedi, that means we’re free, right?”

Anakin’s thoughts stutter to a halt. 

Oh.

_Oh._

“Yes,” Anakin whispers, suddenly choked up, “we’re free.”

“Watto wants me to start racing for him,” Ani says softly, “I don’t want Mom to worry but. . . I’m scared.” He says the last bit shamefully, as if it’s some dirty secret. Instinctively Anakin moves to wrap him in a hug, and Ani clutches onto him like a lifeline, burying his face in his robes. “I _watch_ the races—I know what happens to the racers, and there's never any humans and when there _are_ humans, they usually blow up in the first lap and I don’t wanna do it, but I _have_ to ‘cause Watto thinks it’s gonna be funny and Mom’s gonna be so scared and—”

“Shhh,” Anakin says, “Shhh. Look at me. I’m still here, aren’t I?”

Ani sniffles. “Yeah.”

He remembers it now, the panic. He hadn’t thought about this in years--had tried to block it out, in fact, after leaving Tatooine--but he recalls the fear and the determination not to let anyone see it, not his mother who would feel even more helpless if she knew, not his friends who would pity him, not Watto, not the racers, _no one._

He places his hands on Ani’s shoulders and looks him square in the eyes. “You’re the best pilot in the galaxy,” he says, “and you’re going to become a Jedi someday. You have nothing to worry about. Nothing.”

Ani wipes at his face roughly. “I guess,” he says, visibly trying to pull himself together, “Sorry.”

“It’s alright. It can be good to let it out, sometimes. You feeling better?”

A pause. Then, again, “Yeah.”

“So,” he says, stepping back and taking in his surroundings again, “what is it that I’m supposed to ‘finish’ here?”

“I dunno,” Ani says, “but the air’s really tense—”

“The—wait a minute. You mean the _force_?”

“—and—what’s the force?”

“The. . .” he gestures around blankly, “the feeling. You know. Like, the buzzing, under your skin. When you can tell what people feel or think, or you know something’s going to happen before it does, or you move a little faster than you should be able to—like that.”

“That’s the _force?_ ” Ani’s voice goes shrill with excitement, “it’s all the same thing? Wait, is that what gives the Jedi the magic powers, too?”

“Yes.”

_“Wizard._ Anyways, the force says you have to do something here before you can leave, but I dunno what.” 

Well. That’s. . . enlightening. Anakin sits down, beckoning Ani over and reaching out to the force for some sort of clarity. All he gets are whispers of _stay, balance._

_What?_ he searches, _Balance what?_

_Yourself,_ the force croons, before slipping out of his grasp, _balance yourself._

His eyes snap open. The force slides out of his grasp like water, scampering back and forth as if mocking him. Looks like he has no choice, then.

“What were you doing before?” 

Before?

The Council Chambers. He was in the Council Chambers after Master Windu had ordered him to stay behind, and Palpatine was a _Sith Lord_ but Palpatine could help him save Padme, who was going to die unless he did _something,_ he had to save her, he couldn’t let the Chancellor die— 

There’s a motion in the edge of his vision and he looks up sharply, interrupting his spiral. Ani’s curled up in a ball and shaking, hands pressed tightly against his ears and eyes scrunched closed. 

“Oh, sh—” Anakin clamps down on his thoughts tightly, drawing his presence back to him and locking the distress under strong shields. He takes a step forward, reaching to draw Ani’s hands gently away. “Sorry,” he says, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

Ani whimpers, a little, but his features relax marginally. His eyes open a sliver. “What _was_ that?” he gasps.

Anakin hardly knows where to begin.

“. . . there was a lot going on. Before.” he says finally.

Ani takes a shuddering breath and uncurls from his position, rubbing at his eyes. His voice is steadier than Anakin expected. “Did the force send you here to figure it out?”

“I. . . maybe.”

“You should tell me what was going on,” Ani says decisively, “Mom says I’m really good at figuring stuff out.”

His initial instinct is to reject it; he doesn’t want to dump his problems—and _hell_ does he have a lot of problems—on an eight year old. But the expression on Ani’s face is determined and suddenly reminds him sharply of Shmi. It’s been years, but he still misses her so much.

He caves.

“I’m married,” is the first thing he says.

Ani’s eyes go wide like saucers. “ _Really?_ What are they like? Are they pretty? Do they like podracing? Do they—”

“Her name’s Padme.” Anakin says with a laugh. “And yes, she’s very pretty. She isn’t a fan of podracing, though.”

Ani pouts, a little, and Anakin almost laughs. “Kay, so other than Padme having really bad taste,” Ani says, scrunching his nose with offense at the idea, “what’s wrong?”

“Well. Jedi—Jedi can’t be married.” And _that’s_ just the tip of his very, very, _very_ long list of problems at the moment. But his mother’s voice and Obi-wan’s voice filter into his thoughts in tandem, reminding him, _Take it one thing at a time. The problem is always more manageable in chunks._

“They can’t?” And Anakin doesn’t have time to wonder at the twist in his voice before— “But I thought we were _free_.”

“What? Of course we’re free—” Why would he even think— _oh. Oh_. 

He remembers.

The secrecy, the ceremonies in the dead of night, the exchange of jappor snippets small enough to be tucked away into folds of cloth and valued recipes traded and kept alive year after year. Marriage, on Tatooine, is dangerous for the slaves to claim openly. No Master would hesitate to use it against them, so they had to learn to keep quiet.

But that’s something _entirely different_. 

“It’s not—it’s not _like_ that. No one’s stopping any Jedi from leaving and getting married. You just. . . can’t stay in the Order is all.”

“But then. . . I don’t get it. Why _can’t_ Jedi be married?”

“Because. . .” He’s not sure how to explain it, really. The Chancellor’s words about “fear of love” and “fear of attachment” float to mind, and force knows he’s thought them bitterly often enough, but they don’t really. . . ring true. Neither does the oft repeated adage of the dangers of attachment, because— _oh._ The real reason is simpler, isn’t it? 

“A Jedi’s job,” he says, finally, “is to devote themselves to the force and to carrying out the force’s will. But when you marry someone, you make a promise to devote yourself to _them_. And. . .” That’s the crux of it, isn’t it? That’s why he’s always known, deep down, that by marrying Padme, he was choosing a future in which he’d have to leave the Jedi, sooner or later. He had his excuse during the war, but now the war’s drawing to a close. “You can’t have both. You can’t devote yourself fully to the force and to a partner at the same time.”

Ani looks contemplative at that, and, for some reason, a little sad. He speaks, and Anakin understands why. “So. . . you’re not _really_ a Jedi.”

It hurts, put like that. But he can’t deny it.

“. . .no. I guess I’m not.”

“So’s that the problem?” Ani asks. “That you want both, but you know you can’t, so you have to leave the Jedi now?”

Okay, maybe a few weeks ago that would have stung. Maybe it would have been a wake-up call. But at this point he’s so far beyond that stage that, hey, if he ever gets out of this enormous mess, he’ll leave the Order with a thank-you note to every Knight and Master that ever put up with him and a five-page apology to Master Windu for all the gray hairs he would have given him if he hadn’t been bald.

“Believe me,” Anakin says, running a hand through his hair as the restlessness and anxiety make a rapid comeback, “that’s the _least_ of my worries.”

He sighs. “Padme’s pregnant. With our child. But I keep having dreams that she’s going to die in childbirth and I—I _can’t_ lose her, I _can’t_ . So that’s one. Chancellor Palpatine—he’s the Chancellor of the Republic—promised he could help me save her but he’s also—he’s also the _Sith Lord who’s orchestrated this entire war_ and I just found out today and I don’t—I don’t know what to do! He’s always been my friend, he’s always looked out for me, he’s a _good man_ but. . . but he’s the _Sith Lord_.”

He pauses to take a breath. “And then I went and told Master Windu so now the _Council’s_ going after him and I think they might kill him but if they kill him he can’t help me and _Padme’s going to die_!”

He’s not sure what to expect when he finishes speaking. Gasps, maybe? Shock? Surprise? Anger? Fear?

Instead, Ani just blinks up at him in confusion. “. . . what. . .” he mutters to himself. He looks thoroughly lost. “Is the Chancellor. . . what’s the Chancellor? And what’s a Sith? And what do bad dreams have to do with anything? Mom dreams about us being separated all the time, but we’re still together.” He scrunches his eyebrows, then, and continues in a smaller voice. “Plus, who’s the Council?”

Anakin can’t help himself. He laughs. 

It comes out a bit hysterical, he thinks. Ani hasn’t even met a Jedi yet. _Of course_ he has no idea what a Sith even is. _Of course_ he doesn’t know who the Chancellor is. 

The laughing is full-on hysterical now. He might be panicking.

. . . He’s panicking. This is a problem. 

“Hey!” says Ani, sounding both indignant and worried. “Stop it! It wasn’t _that_ funny—hey!”

It takes him maybe a minute to get back under control—surprisingly, Ani’s grumbling does help to an extent. _Take it one thing at a time_ , his mother would say. His mother. . . is _dead_. And Ani doesn’t know. 

He swallows; his throat is suddenly dry. He can’t bring himself to tell his younger self his mother’s fate—he can’t even bear to think about it himself, in all honesty. 

“Let’s just say,” he mutters instead, “that these are a special type of dreams. And I’ve had them before.” 

Ani utters a quiet “oh” and he continues, “The Sith. . . think of them like the opposite of Jedi, I guess. They have the same powers but they use them for selfish purposes—for evil, instead of good. The Chancellor’s the leader of the Republic; the Council are the ones who lead the Jedi.”

“The _leader_ of the Republic is evil?”

“That’s— _no,_ ” Ani’s words inspire a visceral reaction from him—blood rushes to his face immediately. _Yes_ , he’s a Sith, apparently, but _evil?_ The Chancellor, _evil_? _“_ I--that’s not what I meant! He’s a good man—”

“You _literally just_ said he was an evil Jedi—”

“Well, the Jedi don’t know everything about the Sith, maybe they were wrong—”

“You said he made a _war_ —”

“Well, maybe he had a reason—”

“Stop it!” Ani shouts, “ _Stop lying!”_

“But that’s. . . this is _ridiculous_.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I’ve known him since I was _nine_. He’s--oh, force, he’s known me _since I was_ _nine._ ”

Chancellor Palpatine. . . _evil_? But if he’s orchestrated the whole war. . . how can he be anything but?

“Oh, force.” he says again. “Oh, _force_.”

Had he ever been Anakin’s friend? Had he ever actually cared?

Had he. . .

“ _Fuck!”_

Ani jumps. Anakin hardly looks up. He can feel the blood rushing through his veins—he’s shaking, a little.

Palpatine wants him as his apprentice, doesn’t he. Which means all those years, all the conversations, the friendship, the friendly touches—hadn’t he thought it was strange when the Chancellor encouraged revenge, encouraged his mistrust of the Council, the Order, encouraged his anger and fears and ego—all of that was. . . to _manipulate_ him. To _turn_ him.

And he fell for it. He well and thoroughly fell for it, every bit.

Force, he’s so _stupid_.

“Oh, fuck,” he says, again, “Oh, _fuck,_ ”

“I told you,” Ani says smugly. “You literally just _said_ he was evil.”

“But—” He wants to scream. Or break something. He really wants to break something. “—Padme, I need him to save Padme—”

“You’re kidding, right? If he’s evil, then why would he help you save anyone?”

“Maybe that’s what he’s relying on,” Anakin says, more to convince himself than anything at this point. “Maybe. . . maybe that’s the trade—maybe if I become his apprentice he’ll save her.”

“Don’t be _stupid_ ,” Ani spits. “Watto makes promises like that too.”

He stiffens. “Promises like _what_?”

“Did you even tell him about the dreams? Did _he_ say how he was going to save her? Did he even say he would?”

It’s like ice has been poured down his insides. Suddenly he feels a little lightheaded. “No,” he admits quietly. “No, I didn’t. And neither did he.”

“What am I going to do?” He’s not sure who he’s asking. Himself? His younger self? The force? 

He grasps at the edges of his sleeves, clenching the fabric tightly. “Why the _hell_ would the force give me these visions if I couldn’t _do_ anything about them? Just to torture me? What does it _want_ from me?”

“I think. . .” Ani muses, “I think the force is just being kinda mean.”

Anakin sinks to the ground and tries to choke back a sob. 

So that’s it, then? There’s nothing he can do?

Nothing.

_Nothing._

_There’s nothing he can do._

Padme’s going to die, he’s going to have watched it play out over and over again in his dreams, and he’s going to do _nothing_.

“ _Fuck_ the force,” he croaks. “What the _hell_.”

“’m sorry.” Ani says. To his credit, he does look upset. 

“It’s not your fault.” It’s the force’s fault. And maybe, probably, a bit his fault too. Is this the force’s way of punishing him? Some divine retribution? But hey, even if he deserves this somehow, _Padme_ sure as hell doesn’t. She doesn’t deserve to die at twenty-seven years old, in _childbirth_ of all things. On Coruscant. With the secret children of a secret husband.

But there's _nothing he can do_. His dreams are set in stone, aren’t they? The most he can do is make sure she has the best medical care, make sure he’s by her side, and pray the force doesn’t decide her time is up.

Oh.

_Oh._

Yoda’s advice had seemed so useless, before, but he thinks he understands it a bit better now. 

He blinks back a few tears to realize that Ani’s wrapped his arms around him. “Maybe the dreams won’t come true,” Ani says optimistically. “Maybe this is what you needed to do to stop them.”

He hums, unconvinced. “Maybe,” he says, for Ani’s sake. 

“‘sides,” Ani says, “I think we figured it out.”

“What?”  
  


“Can’t you feel it? The air—I mean, the force—it’s happier now. It’s. . . light.”

He reaches. It’s true. The force feels. . . more content. 

Good for the force, he thinks bitterly. He himself feels even _worse._

Well. Okay. That’s not entirely true. He at least knows now what he’s going to do when he gets back. And, well, what he’s _not_ going to do, and that’s running into Palpatine’s waiting grasp— _force_ , Palpatine, who’s never really been his friend after all—like an idiot. 

“Yeah,” he says with a sigh, “yeah, I guess so.”

He looks down at where Ani’s wrapped around his waist, and takes a step back. “Thank you,” he says sincerely, offering a bow. He doesn’t know if Ani really understands the significance—he’s never even _seen_ a Jedi before this point, and bowing had definitely gone over his head when he first joined the Temple—but he holds it low for a few seconds all the same.

“I think we make a good team,” Ani says with a grin. He ruffles the kid’s hair.

“Guess we do.”

The force is vibrating now, less slippery than it had been before, pulsing and twisting with some kind of tense energy as if it’s been coiled like a spring. His time here has. . . probably come to a close.

“Ani,” he says, “when you see Mom, tell her. . . tell her you love her, from me.”

Ani’s smile drops, suddenly. His gaze flicks downwards, back up, and sideways across their eerily strange surroundings. When he speaks, his voice is trembling. “I’m not real. . . am I?”

Anakin’s stomach drops. “What?”

“It’s just. . .” Ani fidgets. “It’s just that I can feel it, in the force, where you’re gonna go next. You’re gonna go back home, and you’re gonna figure everything out. But I ask where _I’m_ going next and I get _nothing_.”

“No,” Anakin says, feeling the blood drain from his face, “no, no. That _can’t_ be.”

He reaches into the force, and he imagines he can feel it laughing cruelly. _It’s true,_ the force croons, _it’s true, it’s true._

“Things will be better for you,” Ani says, gripping onto his cloak tightly, “it’ll be better, you’ll see. You’ll figure everything out, I just know it.”

He grips tighter and starts to shake slightly. “Do it for me? Please?”

“I will,” Anakin says, finding his voice. “I will, I will, I promise.”

Ani exhales. “Thank you.”

The force coils tighter, and tighter, and tighter, and there’s buzzing underneath his skin that seems to grow stronger and stronger and—

It _snaps._

Everything vanishes in a whirl of light.

When he opens his eyes, he’s in the Council Chambers. 

The sun is in the same position as he left it; setting with its orange rays painting the Coruscant skyline. He’s alone in the Chambers—Master Windu and the others have probably only just left.

He sits down to wait.

He knows what he has to do.


End file.
